The Subtle art of relaxation
Being your own boss, setting your own working hours, working locally. Can you achieve a more relaxing lifestyle? There was a time, just a few days ago in fact, when I might have agreed with you.
On Monday we got an emergency call. Their driveway was flooded and the water was running downhill to fill the garage. But not to worry, it looked like rainwater not sewage. We leapt into the Plumbmobile with a happy heart and a rodding kit.
A few minutes later we were stood at the edge of a driveway, watching a glutinous brown river of mashed up tissue paper and ominous brown squidgy things snake past and pool in what was once a nice double garage.
The client appeared on the opposite bank of the River Stinks. “I think it might be sewage after all!” He cried.
No sh*t Sherlock!
People always think that this scenario must be the worst aspect of plumbing. Yet, to be honest, it isn’t. Dealing with sewage is a bit like squeezing black heads; a bit gross, but oddly, very oddly… Satisfying.
We donned our elbow length rubber gloves and began lifting various drain covers to discover which way everything was supposed to flow and therefore where the blockage was likely to be. After about 20 minutes the covers were all up and we’d pretty much figured it out.
I was rodding away merrily when the effulent levels suddenly began to drop. So it was with a distinct feeling of triumph that I started pulling the rods back. Job done.
Strange to relate but there is actually a technique to using a rodding kit. Since every metre length of pipe is connected to the next with a screw thread you need to twist clockwise as you push and pull to ensure everything stays connected…
“Didn’t we have a rubber disc on the end of that?” My mate asked as the last rod emerged.
“Ar…” I replied, remembering to twist clockwise just that teensy, weensy, tiny, little bit too late. We were now missing a 4 inch rubber disc. A disc that was almost certainly going to block the drain again, on account of the drain being 4 inches wide. Huston, we have a problem!
The next drain cover was only about 10 metres away so I figured that we ought to be able to push the disc into it using the rods themselves. So that’s what we did.
After 5 minutes of dismal failure I handed the rods over to my mate to see if he could do any better. As I watched him feed the rods back into the drain a thought struck me.
“Wasn’t this a bit longer when we started?” I asked. We stood back and had a good, long, look at the connected rods. They certainly seemed shorter.
“How many rods are there in a kit?” My mate asked. I picked up the bag and checked. According to the label ten rods came with the kit… We currently had seven.
So. Jammed down the drain there was now a 4 inch rubber disc and 3 metres of plastic piping. Huston, we REALLY do have a problem!
To exacerbate our predicament, the two drains were 10 metres apart but we now only had seven metres of rod; not enough to be able to push the rubber disc and the missing rods out of the pipe and into the next drain cover.
We stared at the drains for a while but there was really only one solution.
“We could always buy another rodding kit?” I suggested.
“But we’ve already lost one!”
There wasn’t a lot of choice really. “In for a penny, in for a pound?” I replied, trying my level best to be cheerful.
I returned from Travis Perkins with a new kit. We now had a total of 17m of rod, more than enough to push the trapped equipment out of the pipe. Or so we thought. Half an hour later and we’d achieved bugger all. We were getting desperate.
“We ought to try this with the rubber disc on the end.” I suggested.
“We’ve already lost one in there. How much do you want to lose?”
“Well, short of pouring liquid cement down there it’s unlikely to get any more blocked.” My mate pondered this statement then reluctantly handed over the rubber disc.
Five minutes later and the drain had now captured 2 rubber discs and a further 2m of plastic pipe. Bugger!
To add insult to injury the van radio was now blasting out Kasabian’s latest hit. It sounded suspiciously like “Shoot the rodder.” I quickly handed the rodding kit to back to my mate.
We still had a few options left. We could ring a mate who worked for a notable drain clearing company, AKA the legendary “Dyno-Dave”. Or, we could dig up the road, crack into the pipe, recover our equipment, replace the broken pipe, fill in the hole and quickly re tarmac the road.
These were both good and perfectly viable options. However, my personal favourite was to run away and deny everything. Alas, there was an obvious difficulty with this option; damn that van side signage!
The odds of Dyno-Dave being available in the next few hours was small. The odds of us digging up 10 metres of underground soil pipe for less than a £1000 was even smaller. In the end we decided that, since the drain couldn’t get anymore blocked than it already was, we might as well put the corkscrew connector on the remaining rods and give the whole lot a really, really good push.
To effect this, my mate gave the man-hole a baleful stare and boldly went, where few men have gone before - down the drain. I meanwhile opted for the far more sensible role of kneeling in the road and peering down into the next drain hole cover. As my mate pushed and shoved I hoped to see our lost equipment appear.
Hearty grunts and the scrape of plastic rods echoed down the drain, but nothing emerged. After about 5 minutes of this I gave up hope and wandered over to watch my mate struggling down the drain.
“It’s not working.” I told him miserably, trying to remember the terms and conditions of our public liability insurance.
He ignored me and continued to ram his rod up the clients drain. In other circumstances this would have been an amusing euphemism. In this case it was merely a demonstration of my friends inability to look facts in the face - we’d failed. We’d came, we’d seen and we’d stuffed it full of rubber bungs and plastic pipes. Veni, vidi, exulcero, as Julius might have said… if it had rhymed.
I trudged back to the other drain whilst my mate continued his fight against reality. Sighing I dropped to my knees and peered once more into the now familiar drain. Hang on! A rubber bung lay in the middle of the drain. As I watched a second was forced into view.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see a crap encrusted ring of rubber, which is not a statement you can say every day.
Now familiar with the bottom of the drains, my mate climbed down and retrieved the bungs, still attached to their rods. It had taken over two hours; 15 minutes to clear the drain, 95 minutes to get the drain clearing equipment back again.
It was only the fact that it was 11am that stopped us retiring to the pub for the rest of the day. That and being paid by cheque.
